


Aftermath

by jooliewrites



Series: Season 3 Coliver Codas [6]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: :(, Angst, Coda, Episode Related, Episode: s03e06 Is Someone Really Dead?, Heartbreak, M/M, Post-Break Up, Why can't my bbs be together?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 17:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8455375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: “So, can I ask you a question?”
Connor glanced over his shoulder at the man still lounging on the bed as he shoved his legs back into his pants. “Shoot.”
“Why’d you knock on my door tonight?”
The question made Connor pause before he blurted out, “My ex is on a date.”
+ 
A Coliver 3x06 Coda





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted in two parts on tumblr. With Oliver's part posted: [here](https://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/post/152533840658/a-3x06-coliver-coda-without-lifting-his-head-away) and Connor's part posted: [here.](https://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/post/152622372933/a-3x06-coliver-coda-part-two-part-one-here)

Without lifting his head away from the door, Oliver cursed himself. “Stupid,” he mumbled into the door.

Stepping away, he dug his keys out to unlock and open the door. Once inside, he let his keys fall to the floor with a musical clink, leaned back against the door, and closed his eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Stupid for assuming Thomas would want to come in. Stupid for mispronouncing manchego. Stupid for letting Thomas kiss—

No. Oliver instantly cut off that thought. No, kissing Thomas hadn’t been stupid. Kissing Thomas had been… _something_.

It had been strong fingertips at the nape of his neck and a warm release that flowed through his limbs, making Oliver feel nearly dizzy with pleasure when Thomas had found that pressure point on his neck. It had been a hand near his heart that had curled into his coat to pull Oliver closer. It had been lips soft and warm under his and soft scruff against his cheek. It had been the taste of red wine on his lips and aftershave in his nose and the feel of wool lapels under his fingertips. It had been laughter and smiling and…and _good_. Kissing Thomas had been good.

The whole night had been good, fun even, and wasn’t that the most unexpected thing?

Oliver hadn’t expected to enjoy himself so much. He hadn’t thought they’d linger over dessert or walk the long way back to his apartment. Yeah, their conversations had gone okay online but Oliver hadn’t thought he’d laugh so much or smile so hard his cheeks hurt. He hadn’t expected them to have so much in common and that the conversation would just flow between them, no stilted pauses or awkward lulls. Oliver hadn’t expected the date to end with him looking so forward to the next one.

The next one. A second date. He hadn’t really planned on a second date.

A second date was fine, of course. It was good, great even. He had a second date with a gorgeous man. That was good thing…wasn’t it?

Of course it was. He pushed off the door and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was being stupid again. Of course, a second date with Thomas was what he wanted. Second dates with gorgeous men who knew just where to touch you to make every bone in your body melt were always good ideas.

_This is what you wanted,_ he told himself as he hung his coat.

Oliver’s phone was unlocked and in his hand without him being fully aware of how it’d got there. He’d already opened up the message app but his fingers hesitated. He was nearly sure he’d been about to text Thomas but texting Thomas now would be dangerous, it’d look too needy. He’d already flubbed things twice, the mispronunciation and assuming he’d want to come in (not to mention Oliver’d accidentally revealed right after their entrees arrived that “I Googled you this afternoon”). No, texting Thomas was out.

Instead, he opened up the conversation with Michaela and dashed off a quick _‘Just wanted to say thanks again for all your help. Tonight went great!’_ before pocketing the phone. He took two steps into the living room before nearly tripping over the box on the floor.

“Shit.” Bending down to lift it, Oliver let out a heavy sigh and peered inside at the last of Connor’s things. Face cream and socks. A belt, a spare charging cable, a few undershirts, a pair of boxers. All of the last scraps of Connor that had lingered in 303.

It had taken Oliver a week to actually start a box, a week of staring at a tub of Connor’s hair gel sitting innocently on the sink before he’d picked it up and put it away. The rest had joined the hair gel slowly — a shirt one day, a mug the next, etc. etc. — until Oliver was sure he’d gathered it all.

He’d wanted to make sure he had everything before bringing it over to Michaela’s, no use in bringing it over a piece at time and prolonging the pain, but he’d been sure for days now that everything was together. Yet Oliver still hadn’t done anything with the box except move it from the floor of his bedroom to the kitchen counter to it’s current spot near the door.

Looking down at the open box now, Oliver hesitated. He should just run it down to his car right now, pop in the backseat and give it Connor tomorrow. He should just get rid of it. They were over, done. Both of them were moving on and…and holding on to these things just because those shirts still smelled a little like Connor wasn’t good or healthy or right for either of them. It was holding on to something that wasn’t there anymore. It was dragging out the heartbreak.

The phone in his pocket chimed with a new text. Expecting it to be Michaela, Oliver set the box down on the kitchen counter and dug out the phone. He did a double take at the name on the screen. It wasn’t a reply from Michaela, it was a message from Thomas.

_For the record, walking away tonight was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in a while._

Oliver swiped open the message to respond when his phone buzzed again, a new message just popping up.

_Is tomorrow too soon for that second date?_

Oliver’s fingers hesitated over the screen. Tomorrow? That soon?

Without meaning to, Oliver’s eyes drifted down to the open box and spotted a tie. His mind instantly conjured up an image of Connor standing in the bedroom, tying that tie around his neck as they talked about the coming day. He saw Connor wearing it as he came home one night, his hair a riot of curls, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and the tie pulled askew. Oliver remembered the feel of the silk in his hand when he’d pulled Connor in for a kiss or slipped it off at the end of a day. He saw the tie the dry cleaning basket, mixed in with Oliver’s own ties and their suit jackets and shirts, all of it entwined together because they were all entwined together. Had been, he corrected. Had been all entwined. Past tense.

Oliver turned away from the box. _No,_ he texted Thomas. _Tomorrow would be perfect._

Waiting for a reply, Oliver pressed his lips together and tried again to remember the feel of Thomas’ lips, soft and warm, against his own. Tried to use that one memory to block out the flood of others.

_This is what you want,_ his mind whispered again, the voice nearly mocking him this time. _This is everything you want._

* * *

 “So, can I ask you a question?”

Connor glanced over his shoulder as he shoved his legs back into his pants. Justin, Michaela’s 5th floor, silver fox of a neighbor, was lounging back in his bed. He was still naked as the day he was born and hadn’t even bothered to pull a sheet up and cover himself. One arm was thrown over his head and the other resting on his stomach as he watched Connor dress. Catching Connor’s eye, Justin winked and Connor tried not to bristle under the attention.

“Shoot,” Connor answered, his eyes looking back down to focus on buttoning up his fly.

“Why’d you knock on my door tonight?”

That made Connor pause. “Where was that question twenty minutes ago?”

“An hour ago,” Justin corrected.

Throwing on his undershirt, Connor furrowed his brow and made a show of looking at the clock on the dresser then back at the man on the bed. Connor may have lowballed it at twenty minutes but sex with Justin hadn’t lasted an hour either.

“Is your eyesight going too?” he quipped, gently implying that other things were going too. “‘Cuz they do say it gets worse as you age. Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Justin whipped a pillow at him. “Brat.” He rose to his knees and shifted over to the edge of the bed. “I should punish you for that.”

“Really?” Connor quirked one eyebrow up. “What might that entail?” He bit his lip then, overly innocent, asked, “You gonna spank me?”

Justin grabbed Connor’s shirt and pulled the other man in so their chests were flush. “You keep it up and we’ll find out,” he whispered darkly before taking Connor’s lips.

For a moment, Connor opened his mouth, letting Justin sweep his tongue in, and leaned into the kiss. He groaned a bit as he pulled away but it was more for show than anything else. “I should go,” he whispered and, for the briefest of moments, rested his forehead against Justin’s. It didn’t feel the same. It wasn’t as comforting. Nothing was as comforting. Connor pulled away. “Early class tomorrow.”

Without a word, Justin let him go. Sitting back on his heels, he was silent while Connor found his shoes and sat on the edge of the bed to put them on. “You never answered me,” he said.

“What?” Connor asked, double knotting his laces to buy another second of time.

“Why’d you come here tonight?” Justin asked again. “I mean—don’t get me wrong, I had fun. Had fun last time too it’s just…I didn’t think last time was the ‘Let’s Do This Again’ kind of fun.”

The comment made Connor go cold all over and he stilled. What the fuck? “You could have said—” _Something. Anything._ “You didn’t have to—” _Let me in. Fuck me nearly brainless._

“No, no. I meant _you_ ,” Justin tried to explain. “I didn’t think _you_ wanted to do anything again. You know, we had fun but—” He shrugged. “Just wasn’t really expecting anything.”

“Oh.” The clarification helped but didn’t make Connor feel any better, any warmer, because he knew Justin was right. Last time — dinner, drinks, sex — had been fun but Connor hadn’t really ever intended to see the man again, which was quickly becoming his new M.O.

“So…what happened tonight?” Justin knocked his shoulder against Connor’s in a gesture that felt overly friendly. “What caused the change of…heart?”

Connor shrugged. “Phone died,” he said, lying because he didn’t really have an answer. He didn’t really know why he’d walked up the stairs and knocked on Justin’s door tonight. Connor didn’t really know what he was doing here.

He’d thought he was settled in on Michaela’s couch for the night, ready to endure another night of sleeping on her lumpy sofa, when suddenly he’d been up. He’d been up and getting dressed and walking out, unable lay there one more second listening to Michaela and Asher.

They hadn’t even been doing anything before he’d left. There were no questionable grunts or moans had slipping out from under her door. All Connor’d heard was talking, just the pair of them talking to each other in low muffled voices. Asher had mumbled something and Michaela had laughed, low and rich, in response. There had been another mumble and another laugh and another and another until Connor couldn’t tell who was talking and who was laughing anymore.

That was all it’d been. A simple, ordinary domestic scene at the end of a long day and, for the first time since he’d moved in, Connor felt uncomfortable. The moment seemed too intimate for an intruder. It felt wrong to listen, wrong to stay.

Then, with his mind distracted with thoughts of quiet nights and muffled conversation and domestic simplicity, Oliver had slipped in through his defenses.

Connor closed his eyes and saw Oliver brushing his teeth. He was leaning the doorway of the bathroom, listening as Connor talked about his day. The vision shifted then to Oliver sleeping in their bed with the light on and his glasses slipping down his nose. Touched that his boyfriend had tried to stay up, Connor had quietly turned off the light and slipped Oliver’s glasses off. _Night, Ollie_ , he’d whispered, brushing soft lips over Oliver’s forehead.

A dozen memories like that had flooded in. Them talking as they dressed for bed. Oliver sneaking cold feet under Connor’s in the winter. Oliver showering before bed and slipping under their sheets with damp hair and smelling of soap. The minty freshness of his breath when they shared one last kiss of the day. The pleasure of Oliver being the last person he saw before sleep and the first person he saw at the beginning of every morning.

Oliver. Oliver who broke up with him. Oliver who was dating. Oliver. Oliver. Oliver.

The memories, and the loneliness that accompanied that, had Connor throwing on clothes and heading out the door. A restless energy bubbled through his veins, making him feel wired and high, and he’d headed up the stairs rather than down.

He hadn’t had time to mess with humpr or scroll through his contacts to find someone suitable. He hadn’t the time to sit and wait and watch those little ellipses bubble at the bottom of the screen while someone decided if he was worth the energy tonight. No, Connor had needed an outlet and he had needed one now. Which is how he’d ended up at Justin’s front door, smug grin and charm firmly in place when the other man had swung the door open.

“Your phone died?” Justin said in disbelief. “That’s how you ended up here?”

“Can’t text anyone without it.” Connor shrugged again, looking down to hide the lie. “Didn’t want to wait and charge it up.”

The man sent him a bland look. “Whatever,” Justin said dismissively. “You don’t have to tell me. I shouldn’t have asked.”

The man started to turn away and, without fully intending to, Connor blurted out, “My ex is on a date.” Which was the truth, most of it anyway. _My ex is on a date and I don’t know what to do with my loneliness._

Justin froze, turned back. “Tonight?” Connor nodded. “First one? I mean, since you guys—”

“Yeah,” Connor breathed. “First one.” Oh god, there were going to be others. The realization stole his breath. It wasn’t going to be just tonight. He was going to have to watch Oliver go on other dates.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” Justin rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “That fucking sucks.”

Mutely, Connor nodded, briefly struck by the exquisite loneliness of telling something important to someone who didn’t care. “Yeah. It does fucking suck.”

The silence stretched between them, awkward and still, until Connor snapped out, “Isn’t this the part when you tell me it’s all going to be okay?”

Justin blinked. “What?”

“You know.” Connor ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I tell you my sob story and you go on about how ‘Everything is going to be okay’ and ‘There are other fish in the sea’ and…and…” Connor risked a glance at Justin and the look the man was giving him made Connor feel like a child. “And just shit like that,” he finished lamely. He should never have come here tonight. Next time he needed to get fucked, Connor was finding some nineteen-year-old. Nineteen-year-olds didn’t ask questions.

Justin let out a deep sigh and then, “My ex is living in a 4-bedroom colonial in Villanova.”

Connor froze. “What?”

The man licked his lips and looked down. “My ex, Carlos,” Justin said the name slowly, like it’d been so long since he allowed himself to say it that his lips had forgotten how to form the word. “Carlos and his husband live in Villanova.”

“Husband?”

He nodded. “They just adopted their second child. A boy” He gave Connor a weak smile. “He’s so…so fat.”

Connor’s mouth fell open in indignation. “He’s a baby. He’s not—”

“No. No,” Justin protested. “That’s not—Jesus, I’m just fucking it all up tonight.” He ran a hand over his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant…” He sighed again, soft and wistful this time. “He’s so big. And..and cute. And he’s got these dimples that just…” Justin weakly smiled and pure longing in his expression hit Connor like a punch to the gut.

“Why are you telling me this?” Connor whispered.

Justin’s eyes found Connor and they held. “Because sometimes it doesn’t work out,” he told him. “Sometimes your friends are all wrong and the love of your life ends up married to someone else. Sometimes your ex meets some asshole named Keith and that bastard ends up getting the life that was supposed to be yours. Seven years later, he’s fucking _your_ husband and raising _your_ kids, living in _your_ house and…and… _Christ_.” Justin rubbed his right thumb over his left ring finger. “Sometimes it just…just doesn’t work out.”

Connor pulled an unsteady breath in through his nose. “How do you make it work out?” he asked hesitantly.

“Fuck if I know,” the other man breathed out. “But if you figure it you out, you lemme know.”

They sat there then on the edge of the bed. Two lonely hearts beating softly in a sleeping city.

“I should go.” Connor’s voice was rough and he cleared his throat. “Go get out of your hair.”

“You can stay,” Justin offered, knowing full well Connor wouldn’t take him up on it.

“Nah.” Connor shook his head like they both knew he would. “Thanks but I gotta go.”

Gentlemen that he was, Justin walked Connor out and said as he headed out, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Okay. I won’t,” he said with a half smile before Justin shut the door and they both knew it was lie. They wouldn’t be seeing each other again.

Balling his fists in his pockets, Connor slowly headed back down to Michaela’s apartment, his mind playing back Justin’s warning.

_Sometimes it just doesn’t work out._

And, while that was true for some, Connor wasn’t going to let it be true for him.

He and Oliver were going to work it out. Connor was going to ensure it. All he needed was a plan.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com)


End file.
